


Brothers in Arms II - Transition Times

by starkind



Series: Iron Wings Collection [3]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Boys' Love, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Deviates From Canon, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fighter Pilots, Fluff and Humor, IronBat - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Language, young Tony Stark and even younger Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've left the war behind - or haven't they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gotham Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> What started out as a one-shot has turned into something... more. I may have created a monster.   
> Directly follows part I. All chapters in chronological order.

"Well, fuck.“  
A bewildered, raised eyebrow followed the brazen exclamation to his left.  
“Beg pardon?”

Tony used his free hand, the one not entwined with Bruce’s, and gestured towards the towering building. “ _This_ is your crib? You gotta be shitting me – that’s no house, that's a goddamn castle! Geez Louise. You never told me you're royalty, Gotham Prince.” Bruce Wayne suppressed a smile at the inarticulate sounds which escaped his lover’s mouth.

“It’s no castle, it’s a manor. And yes, I grew up here, but no, I'm no country aristocrat. Can we go in now, or do you wanna gawk on from here?”

Before Alfred Pennyworth could haul their luggage from the trunk, Tony and Bruce were quick to take matters into their own hands. Their mutual enthusiasm elicited a benign smile from the butler. Upon picking them up at the airport, it had not taken him long to put two and two together. One look at the boy with the too serious face, who had left his hometown so torn and broken five years ago, and Alfred saw the difference.

Saw how Bruce Wayne had grown into a formidable young man who stood tall and proud.  
Saw and heard the young Gothamite actually laugh out loud once or twice in the back seat.  
Saw how his protege’s once so dull eyes now beamed with fundamental contentment.

It was a sensation so rare ever since Thomas and Martha Wayne had been taken from this world. Alfred Pennyworth was delighted by the plain happiness that had finally been bestowed upon his quasi-son. "Master Bruce, would you like to show Master Anthony around? I will have a small supper prepared in the meantime. Oh, and I have taken the liberty to prepare the master bedroom.”

The young Gothamite nodded and pushed his comrade along. Tony cast him a disbelieving stare over his shoulder, mouthing the words _‘Master Anthony?’_ and pulled a face. A pinch to his backside and Bruce motioned with his head for him to trudge onward. He fought against a bout of dyspnea after climbing the stairs to the private quarters and tried to swallow his condition down.

Once they stood in the large room dominated by mahogany wood and heavy curtains, Tony dropped his bag and surveyed his surroundings. Upon eying the king-size bed, his lips curled with deviousness. "Wonder what Jeeves would say if he knew Master Anthony is _so_ gonna screw your brains out in the master bedroom of Wayne Manor later on. It’ll be all defecting and oh-so indecent, I mean, seeing you were born in here.”

A mixture of naughty and ironic flittered across Bruce’s features. He went to lock the door and came to stand before his lover once again. His hand brushed along Tony’s jeans-clad nether regions, causing the shorter man to inhale. Bruce then proceeded to lean in close.

“Actually, I was born in the Regency Room.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's final quote taken directly from TDKR, because I couldn't help myself.


	2. Through Difficulties to Honors

It felt nice being away from all the hassle and the trouble of the past few years. Just to be two guys having some time off, sleeping in most of the days and spending their time at leisure. The Palisades, a lush green area outside of Gotham City that harbored Wayne Manor and all of its surrounding acres of land, was the perfect place for Tony to rest and for Bruce to recuperate.

After Wayne had lost not only a fair share of his respiratory volume but also a significant amount of muscle mass due to immobility, Tony made him start out anew by going for walks alongside the vast premises to build back endurance. It baffled him how most of the cartways surrounding the manor were foreign to Bruce; how he apparently had never gotten to explore most of what was his - a circumstance tainted by his horrifying childhood experiences.

They had not spoken about the actual time they would spend in Gotham. Tony had already announced the sweeping changes that were about to hit Stark Industries back in New York via telephone. Obadiah Stane, resident CEO and longtime business partner, had taken to the news with controlled optimism; told Tony to take his time and reassured him he would investigate upon the disgusting stipulations that led to the dirty gun running underhand dealings himself.

He also left the young genius to think about the prospect of being in charge of R&D. Stark Industries would be able to become even bigger with its heir creating a whole new level of aerial warfare; solely for the purpose of saving as many lives of US troops worldwide as possible. It was all going to be for the greater good, Stane said, so Tony was relieved and moreover excited upon the future prospect of setting his company back into the right direction.

It also gave him and Bruce something to talk about on the first of their daily two walks after breakfast. The Gothamite was quick to flat out refuse any official position in Tony's company - being a Wayne stood for something else than playing the personal assistant, to his lover of all people, thank you very much. It subsequently led them to the other, though not as pressing, topic that was Bruce's own legacy.

Ever since the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne, the company was in the capable hands of a CEO named Lucius Fox and a chairman of the board by the name of Douglas Fredericks. According to Alfred Pennyworth, both men acted in their respective best interests for its future, even in the new millennium - Wayne Enterprises was as financially stable and promising as before Bruce's departure. A subtle question hung in the air after Alfred had finished talking, and Tony almost saw Bruce's inner barricades slam shut.

At the tender age of 23, the only heir to the national conglomerate still felt far from being capable or remotely interested in following in his parents' footsteps. The elder, brash genius then waved about with the silver cutlery like a maestro and put it into clear, proper words upon dinner in the main dining hall of the Manor: Bruce would leave everything running as smooth as always in Gotham City, accompany him for a life together in New York and find something of interest for him to occupy his mind with once they got all settled in.

The pinched lipped defiance on Bruce's face seemed to lessen a little as he groped for his glass of ginger ale, eyes going back and forth between Tony and his butler. Alfred gave an understanding nod, served them the main course which consisted of premium tenderloin steak, green beans and rice and never mentioned Wayne Enterprises again during the whole time of their stay.

Inwardly, Tony had already something in mind for his lover but chose to keep his ideas to himself for the moment.  
What mattered most was them being together, and Bruce making a full recovery.  
He would take care of both; he _was_ Tony Stark after all.

 


	3. Everything Burns

_Smoke is rising up. His head is running hot from the immense heat all around. His heart pulsates in his chest as he yells through the ashes and debris at the bodies huddled in the corner. Another explosion shakes the hangar, then everything collapses in the back. Frantic he grabs onto two arms and hurls them onwards, into the direction of the entrance; into safety._

_His own safety gets caught up once the ceiling caves in and comes crashing down on him. The impact does not render him unconscious at once, only dazzles his senses. Pressure, so much pressure on his chest he cannot shake it off. Solid metal, hot to the touch. Come on, stand up, get up he tries to tell himself as the world around him melts away._

_Broken glass flies past him, rains down on his face. At least he manages to cover his eyes with one free elbow. Everything is ashes and smoke by now, burning inside his lungs, and he feels himself fading. One last weak push against the unmoving dead weight on his chest, then there is only the scorching heat of the blaze all around..._

Bruce woke from the sounds of his own whimpering and snapped his eyes open. No blaze, no fire; just darkness. Cool, calm darkness. When his mind cleared up again he remembered. Gotham City. Wayne Manor. Safety. Raindrops against the window pane. His breathing came out labored and his t-shirt was drenched in cold sweat; an uncomfortable, icky feel.

He wiggled until he was able to discard the soaked item to the bedroom floor. With a small shiver, Bruce pulled the blanket high up to his chin and curled himself up on the side. As if on cue, a familiar presence from behind scooted nearer and a warm hand brushed over his damp hair. The other wormed its way underneath his blanket to wrap an arm around his bare midriff.

“Nightmare?”  
Tony's voice was sleep-laden, deep, reassuring.  
“Go back to sleep. I'm fine.”

A gentle kiss on his neck. Bruce felt the lurking panic inside his throat ebb off.  
“I got you, babe; 'lways.”  
He covered the mechanic's large, sturdy hand and interlaced their fingers.

“I know.”


	4. A Thousand Miles from Comfort

Bruce hated it. Not that he would ever say it aloud, but he hated it. Hated how Tony morphed into that other version whenever he donned the expensive designer suits. Tony number two, Bruce called him in his head. Hated the way Stark wore his hair all slicked back, and the way he pranced around with his latest, ridiculous goatee these days.

Actually, no, Bruce did not hate Tony's business look per se.

In fact, he wanted to mount him each time Stark looked right out of the pages of a fashion magazine. He did, however, hate the circumstances which had led to Tony's transformation, soon after they had moved to New York and into the Stark-owned apartment block on Fifth Avenue. Once Tony had set foot in the company that carried his name and demanded back what was rightfully his, it required him to play along.

The rules of the industry soon became his life where it was all about the glib tongue, the shake-hands, and the many business lunches. After celebrating his 30th  birthday several weeks ago, Captain Tony Stark -returned war hero, genius, mechanic, fighter pilot, and sole heir to his father's fortune 500 company- began to cherish the powers of money and wealth in contradiction to the modest values of his former lifestyle.

Worst of it all was the fact that Bruce himself had to take a backseat for the most of Tony's new business life. Not that he would have liked to be as exposed as Tony in the first place, but they now had to be even more mindful not to let their relationship slip out into the open. Things had quickly become far more complicated than Wayne had assumed at first; in a way even more complicated than back in Iraq, strange as that was.

It was not that Tony was neglecting him, far from it. Even though press and people alike loved having him back and loved seeing his face around the many bars, clubs, and restaurants of the city, Stark usually arranged to be free whenever possible to spend time with his lover alone. Bruce never complained out loud about being cooped up at Fifth Avenue like a good wifey, or about being unable to be seen as a couple.

Heaven forbid if Tony Stark -eligible bachelor for every single young woman out there- was caught being intimate with another guy by the paparazzi. If the whole conservative wing of the Stark Industries board got wind of their relationship, the uproar would be heard throughout the United States, and probably overseas. No, Bruce never complained indeed, but he hated it nonetheless.

His silent protest, therefore, expressed itself in other, more subtle ways of dealing with the situation at hand.  
  
While Tony morphed into the poster boy for GQ with each new day, haircut and beard styled in the latest fashion whilst donning the most expensive designer suits, Bruce stayed true to the Spartan lifestyle the military had taught him. Even though his own hair had outgrown buzzcut regulations by far, he still shaved his face clean every morning and wore washed-out cotton t-shirts, chino pants, and sneakers with a passion.

One Saturday afternoon, he threw a fit when Tony tried to coax him into trying on some brand-new cashmere pullovers and designer jeans. Tony stood in the middle of their bedroom, dismayed tug around the mouth, and gestured to the clothes on the bed. “C'mon babe, don't make such a fuss here. You're starting to look like a hobo, y'know?” He had to duck fast when a pair of Versace jeans got thrown his way.  
  
“I told you to knock it off! And you're looking like a pimp these days, just so _you_ know!” Indignant the elder man snatched the rejected pants from the floor and flung them on the bed. “Goddamn prick. I really have better things to do than babysit your sorry ass.” Angered at the condescending tone, Bruce yanked his faded pair of cargo pants back up and raised his chin with a petulant expression.

“Fine by me!”

He stormed past his lover, snatched his belt from a nearby chair and swung around again. “Don't count on me for dinner tonight.” Equally pissed, Tony blew out his cheeks. He then followed Bruce's retreating back out onto the corridor and watched him stomp down the stairs to the main entrance. Stark remained on the first floor of the townhouse, grabbed the banister and yelled after his disappearing lover.

“Oh, great, really. Grow the fuck up, Wayne and get a life!”  
Before the door slammed shut behind the Gothamite, Tony still heard his final words.  
“Get a fucking shave first, Mack Daddy, alright?!”

Bruce did come back two hours later, subdued but still morose. Tony Stark was nowhere to be found, and he placed the two plastic bags filled with Chinese takeout food on the table. While he pondered whether to look for his missing boyfriend or not, footsteps came down the stairs. “Dim Sun's not enough to get back in my good graces, lemme tell you.” Tony leaned with one shoulder against the open doorway of the kitchen.

For a second Bruce just stared at him and his clean-shaven, disdained face. A meek smile then hushed over the Gothamite's lips. “It's Chop-Suey on Rice and I'm a brat.” Tony sauntered nearer to peek over Bruce's shoulder into the many cups. “I'll forgive you on two conditions: Fried rice's all mine and you gimme a kiss. Now.”

Future occasions saw Tony never trying to pressure Bruce into doing or wearing shallow things he abhorred again. Instead, he went and installed a ginormous gym and spa area in the basement of his family's house, for Bruce to get back into a workout routine to build up strength and endurance. Grudgingly, the younger man accepted his peace offer, seeing they both benefited from partner workouts in private.

It would still take some time for Tony Stark to realize the moral abysses and human derogate behavior that came along with being rich. An observant Bruce Wayne would make sure to stay in the background; trying his best to keep the person who meant the world to him from getting corrupted by the greed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title inspired by the lyrics to 'Rather Be' by Clean Bandit


	5. Domesticity of the Crooked Kind

The first time Bruce woke in the early morning hours and found the bed next to him empty, it caused him a great deal of confusion and panic.

He padded along the dark wooden floors of the townhouse barefooted until sounds and illumination from the living room drew him close. Tony Stark sat cross-legged on the couch in front of the big TV in his pajamas, a bowl of cereal in his lap, and watched cartoons. When his drowsy young lover poked a tousled head in, Tony threw him an apologetic grin around a mouthful of Capt'n Crunch.

“Sorry, couldn't sleep. Did I wake ya?”  
Eyes on the screen where Wile E. Coyote just got ran over by a train, Bruce shook his head.  
“Meh. What time is it?”

The dark-haired mechanic shrugged his shoulders.  
“Dunno. Early. Get back to sleep.”  
Bruce did indeed turn and left the room, only to reappear with his blanket moments later.

To the surprised glance of his boyfriend, he slipped onto the couch, threw the blanket over them both and nestled in a comfortable position. Tony was quick to put the empty cereal bowl aside and stretched out behind Bruce on the sofa. His fingers soon started to play with Bruce's hair, twirled some of the strands, or just caressed the soft peach fuzz on his earlobes.

“Sad he's remembered for his violence and not for his brilliantly realistic paintings of tunnels.”  
Bruce stifled a yawn and blinked his eyes open again. Tony's ministrations made him sleepy.  
“Wha'?”

A smirk ghosted on Tony's lips.  
He turned the volume of the TV down a little and propped his head on his right hand.  
“Never mind, babe, later.”  
  
He continued to stroke the area around Bruce's temple with his left index finger. No two minutes later, the Gothamite's even breathing filled the air. The early cartoon session soon became their morning ritual from that point on, and the birth of Bruce's new favorite nickname for his boyfriend. 'Looney Tones' let him concede, but came up with even more ridiculous varieties of Bruce's name in return.

He succeeded in making Wayne cringe with embarrassment two days later, out in Central Park, where they went for a run.

“Brucie-Bruce! Brucie-Bear! Hey, I'm talking to you!”  
Flushed red with shame and their interval training, Bruce turned around mid-stride.  
“I know, I'm just trying to ignore you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comment about Wile E. Coyote made rounds on Twitter, but unfortunately I don't know who originally tweeted it. It just seemed such a typical Tony thing to say, so, yeah - imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  
> (that said, I do call dibs on 'Looney Tones' myself. Huh.)


	6. Assistance required

“Tony, you _need_ an assistant.”  
  
Obadiah Stane's stern words were still very much present in the back of Tony's head after missing out on yet another, important deadline. Whenever the young genius worked his magic at the company's headquarters, respectively its R&D department, time became irrelevant. Knee-deep within the latest stealth fighter project at hand, Stark Jr could not care less about business meetings and the like.

However, Stane was persistent and never grew tired of pointing out Tony's responsibilities as the officially appointed CEO of Stark Industries. When Tony did cave in at some point, his mentor shoved a dozen files filled with potential applicants into his arms. “Look through them by tomorrow, and pick no more than three for a job interview.”  
  
On his way home, Tony shuffled through the applications on the backseat of the limousine. He was quick to narrow his choice down even before the chauffeur parked in front of his townhouse, and left the remaining files in the car. Mobile pressed to his ear, Tony entered the mansion, glanced around and sauntered into the kitchen. When Bruce trudged down the stairs, Tony's voice wafted through the air.

“Yeah, just her. The others were crap, Obie, c'mon, I don't need a toad following me round - think of my reputation. Gah, qualifications, schmalifications. We'll see... mhm. Sure. Would ya? Swell. Erm... nah, not before 10 am if ya please, I'm not a morning... yeah, y'know. Bubye.”

Bruce walked in on Tony inspecting a file in front of him on the kitchen counter. His phone lay aside and he seemed deep in thought as he thumbed through the few pages, all the while scratching his slightly beard-stubbled cheek. “Looney Tones. Planning for global domination again?” Upon the familiar voice, Tony raised his head and smiled at the arm worming around him.  
  
“I swear your Pinky and the Brain obsession is getting worse, loverboy.” With a grin, a kiss, and a well-intoned “Narf” Bruce released him and peeked over his shoulder. His eyes skimmed across the text to come to rest upon the picture of a young, pretty woman in her twenties. She wore a black business suit, had long, red hair and green eyes.

“Who's that?”  
  
Trying to keep his face and voice neutral, Bruce pointed his chin at the photograph. Tony put on his best, winning smile as he held the application up like a trophy. The young lady went by the name of Bethany Cabe, was 25 years old and had studied economics in Harvard. “My new assistant. Obie said I need one. She looks nice, doesn't she? Capable. And nice.”  
  
The Gothamite detached himself from Tony's proximity and walked over to the fridge. “Uh-huh. So that's a criterion for an assistant – to look _nice_. Got your priorities straight there.” Bruce then rummaged around for cheese, ham, and mayonnaise which he all but chucked upon the counter next to Tony's arm. The latter had to pull the file away before a pack of toast landed on it.

Tight-lipped, Wayne fished a plate and knife from the drawer and began to spread mayo upon two pieces of toast. Stark sat opposite of him and cocked his head. “Aww, Brucie-Bruce, I know what's up... you're jealous! Sheesh, how cute are you?!” A foul glare was his answer as the younger man bludgeoned yet another piece of bread. “Pfff, jealous. Am not. Just your hiring method stinks, big time. S'all. Here.”

Bruce all but thew the small plate into Tony's direction with a clatter. He then went on to prepare his own sandwich and reopened the fridge to look for pickles and mustard. Between taking bites, Tony gazed lovingly at the well-rounded backside, hidden inside gray sweatpants. “No need to be jealous, babe – she sure as hell won't have an ass half as nice as yours.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bethany Cabe is actually part of Marvel's Earth-616 verse. But she fit the bill, so I keep her at the periphery of this one for time being


	7. Affect and Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First attempt at an all-dialogue chapter

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It's only reasonable.”

“It's completely out of the question!”

“... Last time I checked, you were not my father.”

“Fucking right. And last time I checked, your respiratory system was attached to so many machines that it would've made Darth Vader jealous. So no, I'm not taking risks. Forget about it.”

“Stop wrapping me in cotton wool. It's gonna be ten minutes max, no pressure. I want in.”

“No! Babe, I'm sorry, but you're starting to piss me off here. The Raptor's just a prototype.”

“Exactly! It needs a skilled pilot to avoid having the damn thing nosedive first time up there.”

“And that pilot's supposed to be you, I reckon?”

“Don't get cute with me, Iron, I know you'd love to fly the thing yourself. But since you have to schmooze up all those old farts in their business suits and uniforms, that basically leaves me.”

“If Jeeves could hear you talking like that, he'd have a field day.”

“That's entirely your bad influence, and his name's Alfred. And I'll do the flight demonstration.”

“Bats...”

“Don't 'Bats' me. You need a pilot, you got a pilot. Send those other amateurs back home!”

“... hotheaded asshole.”

“Yeah, I love you too.”

 


	8. The Jealousy Game

At first, Tony had not paid it any mind. Well, to be honest, he had not even noticed it at all.

The flight demonstration was held at Stewart Air National Guard Base, an outpost about an hour's drive from Tony's home. Before the hand-picked delegation of brass and reporters would get the chance to experience the first functional F-22 stealth fighter jet by Stark Industries in the flesh, its test pilot by the name of Bruce Wayne had gotten formally introduced.

Maybe it was the lighting, or maybe Tony had been too immersed in his own speech earlier, but once he had glimpsed sideways to watch Bruce dutifully answer another reporter's question, Tony saw it. A faint, peachy colored lipstick mark on the Gothamite's right side of the face; dangerously close to his mouth. From that moment on, it was all Tony was able to focus on.

It almost made him miss his cue when he was supposed to announce the actual event and take the guests outside onto the airfield.

Once everybody was out of hearing range, Tony fell into lockstep with his pressure suit wearing lover. He made sure to keep his hands within the pockets of his pants to resist temptation. His fingers itched with the need to reach out and wipe that affronting lipstick right off Bruce's skin; maybe steal a kiss or two after slapping Wayne's cheek for getting snogged in the first place.

“Any more imprints on you I should know about?”  
Just like Tony, Bruce kept his gaze locked straight ahead. He shifted the helmet in his arm.  
“Your new assistant said it was for luck. Maybe she has a thing for pilots.”

Tony pursed his lips and slipped on some expensive looking shades.  
“Maybe I have a thing for firing her.”  
The indignant tone in his voice caused Bruce to smirk.

“Your jealousy is endearing, seeing you only hired her cause she looks like your ex girlfriend.”  
A harrumph answered him. Bulls-eye, Bruce dryly mused. Tony then surged two steps ahead.  
“Fuck your guilt tripping games. If you wanna get friendly with my employee, 's fine. Really.”

As soon as they left the shelter of the hangar, the bright sun caused Bruce to squint across the tarmac. It was a beautiful day; scattered clouds, little to no wind, and mild temperatures for October. In the distance, the imposing silhouette of the F-22 loomed up, waiting for him. With ease he caught up with the shorter man again and stole a sideways glance at his miffed lover.

The mask was back in place – it now was Anthony Stark; stylish, young and wealthy businessman he was dealing with, not sweet and cuddly Tony with a head full of dark, untamed locks and ice cream smudges on his t-shirt. Pity, Bruce once more thought to himself, he would have preferred the latter. With a little skip he crossed Tony's path and continued to walk backwards, right in front of him.

Wayne then grinned around a disgustingly red gum and popped a bubble.  
  
“Don't be like that. I'll make it up to you; promise.”  
Eyes hidden behind dark lenses, Bruce could only focus on the derisive curl of Tony's mouth.  
“I could wear some lipstick too, y'know, if it turns you on.”  
  
“... if you're being a dick here, Tony, then...”  
At the growling undertone in Bruce's voice, Tony made a dismissive wave of his hand.  
“Ya, ya, ya. Better suck mine later on. And keep it nice 'n easy up there – no crazy stunts.”  
  
Worry resounded in Stark's voice, despite his effort to coat it with indifference. Bruce grinned.  
“Oh, you know me.”  
Before they had to part ways, Tony turned to cast him a final glare over the rim of his shades.  
  
“Exactly.”  
Bruce only rolled his eyes in exasperation and slipped the helmet on.  
“Go enjoy the show, sunshine.”

He still saw the one finger salute Tony graced him with, hidden behind his back as he walked away towards the waiting delegation. It caused Bruce to burst out into loud, sardonic laughter, right before he hopped up on the ladder of the F-22 and slipped into the seat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this came out of nowhere after seeing some pics of Christian Bale at the 'Shaft' press conf in 2000. I swear in some of them it looks like a lady indeed has snogged him (prolly just his lucky wife *sigh*). 
> 
> Oh, and I am in fact very much aware that Tony Stark did not construct the F-22 Raptor. But I figured he might have; in this verse at least.


	9. The Edge of Glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title's from the song by Lady Gaga. Dunno why.

There was something to be said about being a genius. Being able to create technological marvel, for example. Tony Stark had gotten used to relish the feeling right after he worked on his very first circuit board at the tender age of five. 

These days, there was something to be said about being fawned over for creating the most advanced fighter jet known to mankind. There also was something to be said about your clandestine lover up there, steering said jet and demonstrating the hell out of its technical capabilities.

From thrust vectoring to barrel rolls to the occasional vapor cloud and wingtip vortex contrails for good measure, the air show had the desired effect. Reporters and military contractors alike were congratulating Tony right after the first two minutes, heads craned into the sky to keep up with the fast-moving jet. The F-22 Raptor came around for another close-up, its powerful engine hues reverberating through the air.

It hovered above their heads like a dark, mighty stingray when Wayne described a horizontal arc at low velocity, to grant all bystanders an excellent view on the jet's huge armament compartments underneath. No two seconds later he pulled the twin-engine fighter jet into a crazy fast pitch-up, performed an overhead turn high above their heads and held the plane steady upside down for a moment.

Tony clenched both fists inside his pockets when Bruce even had the nerve to wiggle the flaperons at them, almost like in a greeting. After he pretended to let the jet dwindle out of the sky like a paper plane, Bruce re-ignited the engines at the very last second. In full afterburner, the Raptor gained instant velocity as its pilot whooshed past the spectators in close proximity.

The crowd gave an audible gasp, some even ducked. The Stark Industries' video crew scurried around, almost unable to follow suit. Next to Tony, Obadiah Stane's voice boomed over the tarmac, sounding like a proud uncle. “As you can see, the design of the aircraft enables the F-22 Raptor to perform near impossible maneuvers. Tony Stark himself has taken the word supermaneuverability to a new level.”

A handful of highly-decorated generals began to murmur in mutual agree- and amazement, just as Bruce went into supercruise speed and barreled through the sky with another distinctively loud sonic boom and shock condensation. Any questions regarding the true Mach capability of the F-22 were answered with a “Sorry, classified.” remark and grin from the genius inventor.

A highly decorated General by the name of Pierce turned towards him.  
“Some son of a gun you got up there, Mister Stark.”  
Tony's eyes followed up to where the F-22 somersaulted in a sheer impossible, tight angle.

Torn between admiring Bruce's skillful handiwork and wanting to kick the Gothamite's behind for throwing all caution to the winds in spite of warning, Tony nodded and played it cool behind his Ray Bans. There was definitely something to be said about landing a bulk order from the government while the presentation was still rolling. General Pierce then extended his hand.

“Truly impressive. One of the most impressive fighter jets I have ever seen. Outstanding.”  
High up in the air, Bruce performed another seemingly effortless, gravity defying maneuver.  
“Any jet's only as good as its pilot tho.”

Tony kept his eyes on the vessel as he murmured his answer along.

Behind him he then heard Obadiah Stane taking over; apparently sealing the deal was still reserved for the former CEO of Stark Industries who meanwhile had taken a high-placed position on the company's board. When the show was about to come to an end after ten minutes, the bald man slammed a palm onto Tony's shoulder before he shooed their thoroughly convinced invitees over to the hangar.

“Spectacular as expected, Tony. I think we can get them up to 70 billion for two dozen jets.”  
The genius inventor mimicked the wicked grin of his elder mentor and confidant.  
Stane then followed his line of vision and nodded into the direction of the descending stealth fighter.

“Tell your pilot he did a fantastic job. Didn't you say he was with you in Iraq?”  
  
In slow motion, Tony nodded; his attention divided between the far-away hangar Bruce steered the Raptor into and Stane trying to make conversation. As soon as the jet had disappeared from his view, the Stark-smirk was fully back in place, radiating self-assurance and pride.

“He's the most badass pilot I know.”  
Obadiah Stane just gave a thin-lipped, almost lethal smile.  
“Better have a good hold on him then. Don't want him to take his talents... elsewhere.”

Tony squared his shoulders, felt the sweat-soaked, white Calvin Klein shirt stick to his skin underneath the blue, pinstriped suit, and laughed out loud. With a smooth turn on his heel he accompanied Stane towards the barracks, confident swagger in his stride. They parted ways when Stane went for the delegation and Tony left in search for the kingpin of the day.

“Rest assured _that's_ most likely not gonna happen, Obie. We'll always stay ahead of the pack.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's interested: I watched a youtube vid called F-22 Raptor Demo - MCAS Miramar Air Show 2008 to get into the mood for writing this one, and damn, that pilot's good. Like really, really good.


	10. Your Strength is My Weakness

Bruce was positive there were about two liters of sweat pooling inside his sealed up g-suit. His boots made an actual sloshing sound when he stepped down the ladder of the stealth jet and hopped onto the concrete ground. Because the Raptor was a Stark Industries prototype, no maintenance crew members from Stewart were allowed to be around.

Its pilot was most of all glad not to be surrounded by a pompous delegation of brass and nosy reporters.

His fingers fumbled for the many compartments outside the pressure suit, looking for a certain item. Upon not finding it, the Gothamite felt the first, familiar stirrings of a light asthma attack rise within his lungs. Trying to keep calm, Bruce patted down the front of his overall again. Nothing. Before he decided to swallow his fears down for time being, footsteps approached.  
  
“Here.”  
  
Tony held out a small inhaler, after shaking it a couple of times. Like a hawk, he watched how Bruce took off the cap from the mouthpiece, sealed his lips around it and pressed on the canister to release the medicine. After repeating the procedure a second time, Wayne gave a slow exhale and resealed the inhaler. His lover then handed him a towel and a water bottle.

“Did they like it?”  
Bruce's voice was still a bit wheezy as he rubbed at the beads of sweat on temples and neck.  
“Smitten. Hook, line, and sinker. Obie's wrapping it up. I'm just here to beat the shit outta you.”

In a swift move, Stark pressed the younger man backward into some storage containers. After a few, feeble slaps on Wayne's forearm Tony was quick to capture his lips in a fiery kiss, fists clawed tight into the drenched g-suit. Bruce's mumbled protests about being smelly fell on deaf ears.

After Tony was reassured his lover was alright and whole, he pulled back just enough to let their foreheads still touch and licked his lips which tasted like salt, and Bruce. “What part of no crazy stunts didn't'cha get? Almost died down here coupl'a times, you fucker!” They both knew his crudity was only a facade. Bruce guzzled more water and shrugged.  
  
“Matter of opinion. Sides, I said I'll make it up to you. Jet works like a charm, by the way.”  
With a final glimpse back at the F-22, they started to walk back to the populated area together.  
“Still, it's just a prototype. And you shoulda been more careful.”  
  
Hazel eyes with a touch of green glinted back at him, full of love and unspoken feelings.  
“If you constructed it, then there's no reason for me to doubt its safety. I trust you.”  
Overtaken by a wave of many jumbled emotions all at once, Tony swallowed hard. Twice.  
  
“I want you showered, naked, and in my bed in an hour; preferably for the rest of the day.”  
Neither of them commented on the faint, near inaudible tremor in his voice.  
“Yes Sir, Captain Stark, Sir.”  
  
A casual two-finger salute to the temple, then Bruce Wayne was gone for the changing rooms.  
  



	11. By your crazy, crazy plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied / off-screen sexual scenes (nothing to get all flustered over, though)

With a satisfied groan, Tony braced himself on the mattress and fastened his eyes on the man below him.

Eyes closed, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, Bruce Wayne was a sight to behold: Slightly parted lips, strands of hair splayed out all over his forehead, and his expression slowly changing from pent-up sexual tension to sated bliss. Despite his earlier, loud-mouthed demands for a blowjob, it had been Tony who had swept his exhausted lover off his feet and catered to all of his needs, with a delicacy not known to others.

Usually, Tony loved being fucked into the sheets in the most literal sense. The times he was on top, he preferred to face Bruce during their lovemaking and cherished the close physicality that came with it. Fortunately, his lover was long-limbed enough to enjoy missionary style without overexerting himself.

Not wanting to withdraw from their intimate connection, Tony propped his arms up to the left and right of Bruce's torso to avoid pressure on his lungs and brushed his lips over Bruce's sternum. “Damn you're beautiful.” It came out like an unintelligible mumble but made Bruce, eyes still closed, smile nonetheless. “Betcha say that to all your jocks whom you allow to fly your super stealth fighters.”

Eventually, though, hazel-green eyes blinked open and took in the tousled appearance above. “Only to the handful I keep on heavy rotation.” Tony's quip echoed within the sun-drenched bedroom of the New Yorker townhouse and faded. Bickering in between the sheets was something that had become routine for them; it usually displayed all was well in their respective worlds.

That late afternoon, however, a storm started brewing upon Bruce's normally serene features. It took a couple of tries until he finally spoke.

“We... are still exclusive, aren't we?”

Baffled, Tony shifted until he was able to spoon next to his younger lover and snuggled up to his broad chest. His deft fingers began to draw patterns on Bruce's toned abdomen; patterns the younger man knew were most likely equations of some kind. Even in a post-orgasm, hazy state of mind, Tony's genius mind was always working a mile a minute.

“Why yes. Wasn't me who's gotten smooched by Ms. Cabe today, if that's what you're about.”

Tony kept his voice jovial on purpose and succeeded in eliciting a tiny smirk on those lips, red and swollen from being thoroughly kissed. Bruce turned his head to look at him. “I was just wondering, cause it's obvious you're going to spend most of your time with or around Bethany from now on, which leaves me... the fifth wheel, kinda, all cooped up round here.”

From where he had been nuzzling his face into the hollow of Bruce's collarbone, Tony stilled. “We should get official. Like, for real. I'm sick 'n tired of these hiding games myself. It's the goddamn Year 2K, people should've become more open-minded by now. Let's do it; tell them.”

As much as the words were sincere, and exactly what Bruce Wayne had hoped and wanted to hear, he knew things would much be easier if both of them had not been honorable members of the USAF, and Anthony Stark moreover America's number one arms manufacturer at hand. “Wishful thinking's much appreciated, but you'd have to kiss your company's status goodbye.”  
  
Tony harrumphed at Bruce's rightful objection and busied himself by circling his belly button. “At least let's get Obie in the know. That way you'd be able to swing by SI a lot easier.” Bruce said nothing for a few heartbeats and soaked up Tony's tender ministrations. After a while, he pulled a hand free from underneath the sheets and stilled his lover's busy fingers inside his palm.

It prompted the shorter man to place his leg over those of Bruce instead. “I don't think it's a good idea to involve him, don't ask me why.” The Gothamite then raised their entwined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss on Tony's wrist. “Forget it, I'm just mopey. Just stay away from Bethany and her red locks, then I'm good.” Even though Bruce pulled him into a sleeping position soon after, Tony's mind kept on spinning.  
  
Before he drifted off into a slumber, tucked under the blanket and held tight by two solid, warm arms, Tony murmured out his final thought.

“Gonna check if SI needs a new liaison officer.”

 


	12. Throttle Control

“Hey, Bruce - you know, I was thinking...”  
A raised eyebrow peeked over the newspaper when Tony took a pregnant pause, aiming for complete attention.  
Straight-faced, Bruce lowered his eyes to the paper in his hands again.

“... and I should be worried? Call 911? An exorcist?”  
Indignant, Tony flicked a breadcrumb at him. It bounced off the New York Times' front page.  
“Stop reading the goddamn funny pages and listen to me here. I was thinking: Cars.”

With a huge sigh, Bruce eventually folded the newspaper and put it aside.  
He popped the remains of a thickly-spread toast in his mouth and munched on with a stoic expression.  
"Cars. Right. What about em? Usually have four wheels, sometimes more, if it's a truck...”

In a swift move, Tony rose from his chair and downed his coffee.  
He then walked around the table, smacked his lover lightly upon the head, and fetched his jacket from the kitchen counter.  
“Now listen here, you little shit - no more Nutella for you if you keep egging me on. Capisce?”

Bruce craned his neck until he was able to look over the backrest of his chair.  
“Touchy, touchy this morning, aren't we? C'mon Looney Tones, do spill, I swear I'm listening.”  
All of his youthful charm on full display, he graced Tony with a winsome grin.

Mollified enough, the Stark heir came back to place a kiss on the upturned lips.  
“We should get one. A car I mean. A sports car. Porsche maybe. Or a Corvette. Or both.”  
His thumb brushed at the faint hint of chocolate in the corner of Bruce's mouth with affection.

“With your Italian ancestors, I'd have pegged you the Ferrari kinda guy. Or hey – Lamborghini!”  
Tony's hands wormed their way upon his shoulders and began to knead the muscles there.  
“Who said we have to decide yet? Go get dressed, we're about to make a dozen test drives.”

The whooping sound Bruce made as he went to the bathroom caused Tony to chuckle. If anyone had told him the rigid fighter pilot from Iraq would turn into a teenaged motorhead at the prospect of driving an Italian roadster, Tony would not have believed it for a second. Needless to say, Tony Stark loved to discover all kinds of different facets of Bruce Wayne.

On a boring Saturday afternoon at the end of October 2000, the two of them did the 26.4-mile lap around Manhattan several times; each time in a different expensive sports car. After the first lap, during which Bruce took the passenger seat in the borrowed Porsche 996 convertible, they split up to be able to race each other through the metropolitan area.

Doing 60 mph on the tempo-limited roads and tunnels got them grinning at each other like kids inside their cars; Bruce behind the wheels of a BMW M5 roadster and a Jaguar XKR coupe, followed by Tony in a Corvette C5 and a Ferrari 360 Modena.

Upon circumnavigating the Big Apple four times without getting a single speeding ticket, Tony decided to call it a day and to stop pushing their luck. The sale decision was argued over burger and fries that evening and resulted in Tony getting his favorite hot-rod red Ferrari two days later.

 


	13. This is where it's getting ugly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some of the promised angst (in chapter 13, of all things)

From where he had bolted upstairs, taking two steps at once like usual, Bruce all but recoiled upon spotting the unfamiliar silhouette seated in the large armchair of the salon. “Come on in my boy, no need to be scared.” Obadiah Stane smiled at him like a benevolent, bald Santa Claus but remained sitting. “T... Tony didn't say anything about guests today.”

Agitated, Bruce's voice promptly gave a small lurch as it broke ever so slightly. Stane regarded him like a snake mustering a mouse right before it ate its prey. Wayne then was quick to stuff the tangled headphones of his portable music player -a gift from Tony to encourage him to go on his daily run in Central Park- back into the pocket of his running vest.

“Oh, I'm not really a guest, Bruce. Tony considers me family.”  
At the mention of his name, the Gothamite looked back up and stared at the elder man.  
“Of course I know your name, just like you know mine. Am I right, son?”

Numb, Bruce nodded along. A thin trail of sweat started to run down all the way from his cervical spine down to where it got soaked up in the waistband of his track pants. Warmth engulfed him, and he felt the flush in his cheeks upon the peculiar situation. “Mister Stane. You're in charge of Stark Industries.” The grin on Stane's face morphed into an almost shark-like version.  
  
“No need to be so formal, Bruce, please – call me Obadiah.” Alerted Bruce flexed all muscles at once when Stane got up and moved up towards him. However, he just walked past and headed straight for the house bar in the back. “Oh, and I have to correct you on the other fact, too. Tony's in charge of the company by now.” The voice was neutral, moreover muffled as the big man rummaged the closet for a glass.

Bruce pondered his options. Neither fight or flight response seemed proper, so he put another yard in between Stane and himself before the latter straightened up. “But you know all of that already, being his closest friend. Or should I say – boyfriend?” The younger man started to breathe shallowly. Getting an asthma attack would be the worst thing to happen, so Bruce willed his body to stay calm.

Once the bald man had poured himself a generous shot of liquor, he re-sealed the expensive crystal carafe and leaned his back against the bar. Eyes fixated on Bruce, Obadiah took a first sip. “Don't look so shocked. It was the right thing for Tony to tell me. I'm here to help, Bruce.” A quick glimpse to the huge clock in the corner told Bruce it was only 4 PM. Tony would not be home before another hour at the earliest.  
  
“I don't think we, um... need help. At all.”  
  
The Gothamite then cast his gaze upwards, forcing himself to look Stane right in the eye. Obadiah licked his lips after taking another swig and crossed his ankles. The ice cubes rattled inside the heavy tumbler; the only sound in the room apart from the ticking of the floor clock. Bruce gulped down the anxiety that threatened to rise up his throat. Stane pointed at him.

“You seem like a good boy, Bruce. Apart from your talents as a pilot, I mean. No wonder Tony's so smitten with you. But there are facts which both of you are still too young and inexperienced to know about. Take Tony, for example. He's about to take his company to even greater heights, now that he's returned from war. The last thing he needs is a scandal.”

His chest felt so tight all of a sudden, Bruce thought there was a steel band wrapped around it.  
“There's no scandal. We've kept to ourselves for quite some time. I don't see how...”  
He had to pause, reach up, and unzip his running vest before it would suffocate him.  
  
Stane finished his scotch with one last gulp and put the glass back on the counter with force. “Please don't take this wrong, Bruce. I only have both of your best interests in mind.” Obadiah Stane pushed himself off the counter and crossed the distance. He was only a trifle taller than the young Gothamite, but somehow his presence filled the whole room. All pretense gone, Stane regarded him with cold, malicious eyes.

“Tony will be leaving for a defense system presentation in Afghanistan the day after tomorrow. You will neither accompany him on that trip nor will you continue to live around here upon his return. If you need help in making the decision, I'm sure there are ways to... persuade you.” Walking to the doorway, Stane turned around one last time. He mustered the boy who stood frozen to the spot in the middle of the room.

“This conversation has never taken place, as far as I'm concerned. Think of the people close to you, Bruce, back at Gotham. Think of your parents' company and its reputation. Think of Tony.” After the door had fallen into its lock downstairs, Bruce's legs buckled. Coughing and wheezing from a full-blown asthma attack which he had not experienced ever since he left the hospital back at Balad, he curled into a ball on the floor.

Tears ran from eyes squeezed shut until the brunt of the attack ebbed off a little after fifteen minutes. He managed to crawl over to the bedroom and fumbled for the inhaler in the drawer. Propped up against the bed on the carpeted floor, chest heaving violently, Bruce failed to take notice of the ringing telephone downstairs. It therefore slipped straight to voicemail after the fifth ring.

_'Hey babe, it's me. You're prolly still out running. Anyhow, just wanted to let you know I can't come home – just got the news we're flying out to Afghanistan as of tonight! Obie's arranged a presentation of the new... ah, nevermind, boring. I'll give you a ring as soon as I can, kay? Sorry love, but this one came outta nowhere. Lookin forward to seeing you soon. Bye.”_

 

**~epilogue~**

When Bruce saw the footage of the bombed-out Humvees on the news two days later; saw the headlines of Tony Stark reported missing and most likely killed in Afghanistan by terrorists flash at him on TV and from the newsstands, it was the final straw to his fragile psyche. He left New York under the guise of the same night, headed for the harbor.

Equipped only with a small backpack, and his face hidden underneath a baseball hat, Bruce Wayne never once looked back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I want to express my gratitude to everyone who read, gave kudos or commented. I know Stark/Wayne is kind of a niche product, but I'm glad some people still appreciate :)


End file.
